Title: Back Together (3 of 6)
Characters: Wes, Hobbie, Kyp, Jaina, Jag, Tahiri
Summary: Wait, so now Kyp and Jaina are teaming up with Wes and Hobbie? Ahhh! Everyone hide!
Notes: This is my favourite post in this story. Yes, I know it's my story so I shouldn't say that, but it is. I'm rather proud of this part. It's rather wonderful. And rather heavily inspired by Douglas Adams' writing (as is much of the story, actually). Heh. But I like it.
Words: 5891 (longest post)

Hobbie swirled the dark liquid round in the bottom of his glass, eyeing it with wary resignation. He was sure that he'd probably had enough alcohol for the evening, and that any more would knock him from slight tipsyness into full-blown drunkenness. He couldn't just leave the rest of his drink, though - it was almost half a glass. Besides, when your company for the last few hours had been Wes Janson, and was likely to remain that way for at least another hour, was being drunk really all that bad?

"Change of plan," Wes announced suddenly, interrupting Hobbie's musings.

Grateful for the interruption - it allowed him to put off his all-important decision on whether to get drunk or not - Hobbie set his glass down on the table and glanced up at his friend, squinting in the darkness of the bar room. "Change of what plan, Wes? All we've done is drink and complain about the band. I don't remember any planning coming into any of that."

"Ah, well, you wouldn't," Wes told him cryptically.

Hobbie waited a few heartbeats, then frowned. "Yes, that's what I'm saying. I don't."

Wes nodded mysteriously and looked round the dark, smoke-filled room for a long moment. Somewhere in the gloom were other pilots and techs, relaxing after a day probably considerably less stressful than Hobbie's. He was willing to bet all the credits he had that none of them had had to put up with Wes's ill-thought out pranks for an entire day. He was willing to bet his credits, starfighter and sanity that none of them had ever had to redecorate someone's apartment with an Ewok theme.

"Wes," Hobbie said slowly after another moment. "Are you drunk?"

"No." Wes hesitated, then shrugged. "Maybe a little."

"Maybe a lot. So what plan is this, and what's the change?" Hobbie cursed himself; hadn't he learned already that not questioning Wes about his pranks was the best way to stay uninvolved? Apart from being on the other side of the galaxy, of course, and even then it was a small hope.

"Well," Wes started, then stopped and swallowed another mouthful of lomin ale. "Well," he continued, "I just remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"Fel and Veila."

Hobbie frowned again. "They're hardly the most forgettable of people, Wes. Have you just gotten over an undetected bout of amnesia, too?"

"Yes. No." Wes scowled. "Shut up and let me finish. This is all their fault."

"Finally, we have someone to blame this awful music on." As if on cue, the band started up another song, this time a terrible effort at a fusion of jazz and old Coruscanti underground rock. "I think we should shoot whoever organises the entertainment round here."

"The pranks. Our trouble with Wedge. It's all their fault."

"Wait, wait, I thought that was all Jaina Solo's fault? And the reason we wrecked-"

"Improved."

"-her apartment?"

"No, no," Wes started patiently, his tone sympathetic to what Hobbie guessed was his own incomprehension. "I mean, yes, it was her fault. But it was their fault first."

Hobbie nodded once, twice, then shook his head. "Sorry, Wes, I'm not following your course here. Is there a final destination to this conversation?"

"We have to play a prank on Jag and Tahiri."

"I knew it." Hobbie sighed and picked up his glass again; Wes had made his decision for him. He swallowed a mouthful of his drink, sighed again as he felt the effects of the alcohol slowly make their way to his head, and leaned back in his seat.

"And we need Jaina's - and Kyp's - help."

Hobbie downed the last of his drink and stood up to get another one. Maybe, just maybe, with enough alcohol in his system, he would wake up in the morning having forgotten he ever knew someone called Wes Janson. Miracles happened sometimes, after all.

Miracles didn't, however, happen to Hobbie Klivian. If they did, he wouldn't be standing in the turbolift of Jaina Solo's apartment building, with a Death Star explosion of a headache, waiting for Wes to override the security code.

"They've changed it," Wes told him in that petulant tone, like a child whose favourite toy has been taken away from him by an adult.

Hobbie ignored him. He was trying to imagine that he was still in bed, that he hadn't in fact been woken up by Wes hammering on his door six hours after going to sleep. It wasn't working very well.

"What kind of building has a security code on the turbolift, anyway?" Wes complained.

"One with smart occupants," Hobbie sighed. "Try... I don't know... Solo's date of birth."

"Who would be stupid enough to put their date of birth as a security code?"

Hobbie glared at him. His last entry code for his quarters had been his date of birth; now it was, rather inexplicably, Tycho's. At least it had managed to fool Wes longer than the previous one.

"Oh, right." Wes grinned infuriatingly, then entered Jaina Solo's date of birth into the keypad. It beeped once, and the mechanical voice that every single turbolift in the galaxy seemed to have said, "Second code attempt failed. Third and last attempt."

"What happens if we get this one wrong?" Hobbie asked the 'lift.

"Turbolift descends to the bottom floor-"

"We're already on the bottom floor."

There was a noticeable pause before the voice continued, seeming - if it was possible - irritated. "Then New Republic military-"

"Your software's out of date."

The speakers of the turbolift emitted a strange sparking noise that Hobbie thought sounded very much like a "hmph," and didn't speak again. For some reason, this gave him a small sense of victory, and he grinned triumphantly.

"What do we do now?"

The sense was banished, of course, when he remembered why he and Wes were in the 'lift in the first place. He shrugged. "We go back to the bar so I can get rid of this hangover."

"Ha ha. No, really." Wes was studying the keypad closely, as if searching for the code scratched somewhere in the panel in tiny letters. "We should have brought an astromech. I knew we should have brought an astromech."

"No, you didn't."

"Shut up. Do you have any ideas for the code? Smarter ones, maybe?"

Hobbie thought for a second, then shrugged again. "Try Durron's date of birth."

Wes stared at him in disbelief, then shook his head. "Bad enough being stupid enough to try Solo's date of birth. I'm not going to try someone's doesn't even live in this building."

"OK. We'll go with your idea."

There was a brief pause and then, sighing, Wes keyed in Kyp's date of birth. Hobbie grinned triumphantly again. Even if it was wrong - and it probably was, considering Jaina wasn't the only occupant of this building - all that meant was that someone from security would show up, Wes and Hobbie would bluff their way out, and they'd end up back in the same bar as last night. Perfect.

The turbolift rocked slightly as it started to ascend.

Wes let out a whoop of delight, and clapped Hobbie on the back. "Good work, Hobbie! I knew you could do it."

"Yeah, well..." Hobbie sighed and leaned back again the mirrored wall of the 'lift. He supposed he should have known better than to rely on the odds whenever a Solo was concerned, however indirectly.

As the turbolift rose to the fourth floor, Hobbie tried to get rid of his headache, by simply imagining it didn't exist. That there was no such thing as a hangover. It was going fairly well, he thought, or at least, wasn't making his headache any worse - until Wes started humming 'I'm A Little Ewok.'

"Wes. Wes, please stop."

". . . Hm? Stop what?" Suddenly, the 'lift jolted to a stop, and Wes grinned. "All right, here we go," he said cheerfully, pulling Hobbie out of the 'lift behind him as the doors opened.

Hobbie stared mournfully at the closing doors as Wes dragged him down the corridor, and sighed as they stopped in front of Jaina's door. "Do we really have to do this, Wes?"

"Of course. Now that I've remembered them, we can't possibly let Jag and Tahiri get away with it."

"Solo and Durron won't agree to help, though," Hobbie pointed out. "Not after yesterday. So why are we here?"

"What, you want to leave now?" Wes stared at him incredulously. "After all the trouble of getting up here? Nope. . . Besides, they'll want revenge, too."

"Yeah, on us." Hobbie swore to himself. "I mean, you."

"I love your optimism, Hobbie." Wes reached out and pressed the button for the door buzzer, pushing it repeatedly in a rhythm very much like 'I'm A Little Ewok.'

There was a clattering from the other side of the door, followed by a muffled, "Hang on a second!" Then the door opened, Jaina Solo looked at them through a small gap, said, "Oh," and slammed it shut again. "Kyp," came a muffled call from the other side of the door, "call building security!"

"Well," Hobbie remarked dryly, "that went well. I really like how promising this plan is so far; in fact, I think it's going so well that I might just leave you to it." He turned to head back to the turbolift, but something jerked the back of his collar.

Wes spun him round and grinned cheerfully. "Solo!" he shouted at the door, still in an incessantly cheerful manner. "Come on, we just want to talk!"

"You keep using this collective pronoun," Hobbie noted.

Wes pushed the door buzzer until it opened again. This time, it opened wider, and Hobbie caught a glimpse of the living room behind Kyp Durron's head. The walls were still orange; the floor still had pawprints.

"Jaina says to tell you to go away," Kyp said reasonably.

"OK," Hobbie replied. He tried to turn, but Wes grabbed his shirt again.

"We just want to talk," Wes assured the younger man.

Kyp shrugged and glanced back at something in the room. He winced, obviously at the look on Jaina's face, and shook his head regretfully. "Nope," he told them. "I think it's definitely a 'go away,' only in less polite terms."

"It's about Jag Fel and Tahiri Veila," Wes called to Jaina past Kyp's shoulder.

Kyp stumbled to the side as Jaina pushed past him. She stood in the doorway and glared at Wes for a moment. "What about them?"

"About-" Wes glanced round conspiratorially, and when he spoke again, it was in a low whisper. "About that prank last week."

"Where you and Hobbie played that stupid music in the lounge."

"Yes. No," Wes corrected himself. "Where Jag and Tahiri played that stupid music in the lounge."

"Like I'm going to fall for that." Jaina rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorjamb. "If it was them, then where were they?"

"They ran ahead of us," Hobbie told her. "Before you and Durron arrived."

"Convenient."

"I don't know," Kyp interrupted thoughtfully. "I did sense something before we found these two, that could have been Tahiri."

"All right," Jaina conceded. "But even if it was them, what does that have to do with anything? They certainly weren't responsible for this." She took a step back and waved a hand to indicate the apartment's living room, still exactly as Wes and Hobbie had decorated it the day before, still with Kettch in the middle of the repulsorcouch.

Wes took the opportunity to step into the doorway, and then brushed past Jaina to stand in the middle of the living room. Shaking his head, Hobbie followed him, ignoring Jaina's cursing and Kyp's amused smirk.

"I see you liked our work, then," Wes noted - cheerfully. "Haven't made any changes."

Jaina scowled, ignoring the door as it slid shut behind her. "No. Just haven't had time."

Wes glanced at his wrist-chrono. "I count at least. . . eighteen hours since you saw it. Been otherwise occupied, have you?" His grin was knowing, and infuriating.

Jaina flushed a little and glanced sideways at Kyp, who was staring at the ceiling, a faint smirk on his face. "What do you want?" she asked Wes, ignoring his question.

Hobbie frowned as Wes collapsed on the couch next to Kettch, making himself comfortable. "Already told you; about Jag and Tahiri. Hobbie and I are here to help you get some revenge on them."

"What makes you think we want revenge?" Jaina's tone was nonchalant, and she sat down on the other side of Kettch, moving the stuffed Ewok to the floor so she could glare at Wes.

"Besides, Tahiri's going back to Zonama Sekot tomorrow," Kyp added.

Hobbie got that strange feeling - dread, mixed with a little anticipation - as Wes grinned slowly. "Really? And who's taking her?"

"Wes. . ." But Hobbie's warning tone was ignored as Jaina replied warily.

"Jag," she told Wes, in an almost thoughtful tone. She suddenly smiled, a dangerous, predatory smile.

Wes's grin grew wider. "Perfect."

Hobbie glanced over at Kyp, who had a bemused expression on his face. "You know what that grin means?"

"I think I can guess. What?"

"We're doomed."

Kyp nodded in agreement.

Tahiri Veila was happy. Maybe a little wistful, too. Happy, because over the past few weeks she had made a new best friend - and something more - in the form of Jagged Fel. But wistful, perhaps regretful, because with the conclusion of this lunch date, her stay on Denon would be over, and she would be returning to Zonama Sekot. True, Jag would be accompanying her on her journey, but she'd had so much fun with him here on Denon, that she almost didn't want to leave at all. Being with him in hyperspace wasn't nearly the same as being with him on-planet, even if they would be alone for the whole journey. . .

"Well, Barefoot Girl, I suppose we'd better get a move on."

Tahiri rolled her eyes and sighed. Since their prank last week, Jag had been alternating between her codename and real name. After all the complaining she'd done to get him to say it in the first place, she supposed she couldn't complain again. Nope - easiest way to get back at him for it was: "Sure thing, Imperial Dude."

Jag winced visibly before standing up from the tapcaf table. He left the cost of their meal in credits on the table, along with a generous tip, and brushed invisible crumbs from his clothes. He was dressed casually for once, and Tahiri noticed, amusingly, that he seemed even more uncomfortable in these clothes than in his uniform.

"Do you need to go see anyone before we leave? Or did you do the good-bye thing this morning?" Jag asked her as they headed down the street and towards the hangar their ship was stored in.

Tahiri frowned slightly as Jag's question reminded her of something. "I did all that, except that Jaina wasn't in, and neither was Kyp. When I saw the Solos, Leia said Jaina was busy all day with Kyp, so I left a message. . ."

"She's with Kyp?" Jag's tone was thoughtful. "Strange. My uncle said he saw Kyp with Wes Janson this morning. Didn't mention Jaina at all."

Something started buzzing in Tahiri's head softly, something like a diluted version of her danger sense. She glanced round the street, but everything seemed to be in order. Still, she checked that her lightsabre was easily accessible, and spread out her senses. Nothing seemed out of place. . .

"What's wrong?" Jag had noticed Tahiri's sudden tension, and as they approached the military base and the hangar just outside it, he rested a hand on his blaster.

"Oh, nothing." She shook her head. It wasn't even a real premonition; just a faint buzzing. Didn't mean anything. Nothing to be worried about. . . "Really," she added, forcing herself to keep her hands away from her lightsabre.

Jag's expression was dubious, but he lifted his hand away from his blaster and used it to key the hangar's side door open. "After you," he teased, waving Tahiri through.

Tahiri stepped into the hangar, her gaze scanning the ships gathered there: all of Twin Suns squadron's various fighters; one or two X-wings; a small Hapan ship - probably belonging to Tenel Ka, who was either here on a diplomatic mission, or to see Jacen, Tahiri wasn't sure which; and lastly, the small corvette Chancer that was now assigned to Twin Suns to replace the Trickster, and that Jag was using to take Tahiri back to Zonama Sekot.

It was bright yellow.

Tahiri was absolutely certain it had not been yellow when she'd seen it the day before. Still, she turned to Jag as he entered the hangar behind her and asked him.

"No," he replied slowly, not looking away from Tahiri - perhaps not daring to look up and see what had made her ask the question. "The Chancer is definitely not yellow. It's standard military grey. Why?"

Tahiri took a deep breath and stepped aside so that the ship was directly in Jag's line of sight. She couldn't help smirking slightly at his reaction; it was rare enough for him to get even a little angry, let alone wide-eyed, swearing and absolutely furious. She watched as he ran up to the ship and around it, searching for the culprit. But the only other people Tahiri could sense in the hangar were two mechanics, working on the X-wings at the other side.

Tahiri slowly walked towards Jag, who was standing fuming silently beside Chancer, and studied the ship carefully as she did so. The whole ship had been painted yellow - a bright, nauseating shade of yellow, with a thick black stripe down the middle - with the name of it in black lettering on the side, in a font that was definitely not standard. As she drew closer, she saw that someone had, in small letters, stencilled underneath the name: 'for Imperial Dude and Barefoot Girl.'

Now that was strange. The only people that knew about the codenames were her, Jag, and two hours worth of recording that they had carefully removed any trace of on the computer in the 'Spec. Ops' room. Of course, they hadn't been able to do so until the next day, but there had been no evidence of anyone entering the room between their hurried escape and clearing up. Nothing had been disturbed, the computer showed no sign of having been accessed - all there had been was a faint imprint in the Force of herself, Jag, Wes and Hobbie.

Wes and Hobbie.

Now that she thought about it, those mechanics in the corner felt a little familiar, too. She reached out to try and confirm that, and found that she could suddenly sense two other presences in the hangar, too - faint, wispy, concealed, but very familiar.

"Jag," she said quietly, taking a step away from the ship. "Where did your uncle say he saw Kyp and Janson?"

"I don't know. . ." Jag brushed a hand along the side of the ship, and grimaced when he pulled it away, specks of yellow paint sticking to it. "On the base, I presume." He pointed back towards the other exit of the hangar, which led on to the military base.

"Near, ah, here, do you think?"

Jag looked over at her sharply, then followed her gaze towards the X-wings. "Maybe."

Tahiri thought about approaching the 'mechanics' and confronting them, but decided against it. She turned round to face the ship again, almost crashing into Jag. "Come on, let's get the ship started up. Maybe we can give them a fright when we leave."

Jag nodded and turned to the hatch, entering a code into the console. It blatted at him, and he swore. "The code's not working. Someone's changed it."

Tahiri frowned thoughtfully. "What was it?"

"Um - my date of birth," he admitted.

Tahiri sighed and looked over at the small console. The screen was flashing angrily at them, warning them that they had two tries left before the ship's computer would alert its captain of a break in attempt. Which, of course, meant Jag's comlink would beep at them in addition to the ship's alarm - how futile.

She closed her eyes and tried to extend her senses to the computer in front of her. This wasn't something she was very good at, but after more than four years of hanging around with Anakin Solo, you picked up a few things. With a little spark of happiness, she realised that thinking about that didn't hurt at all; just made her nostalgic about the Academy.

Concentrate, she told herself, and tried to do so. The memory that held the code had been changed within the last few hours, it seemed, but she couldn't quite sense what the new code was. Instead, she tried to nudge the computer into simply bypassing the need for the code. Nothing happened. She frowned thoughtfully, then tried to tell it the code had already been entered. With a beep, the console flashed again with a new number, then code accepted, and the hatch started to open.

"Nice work," Jag said.

"Thanks," she replied absently, then, "That was my date of birth."

"I noticed that. Our pranksters have a twisted sense of humour, it seems. Fans of irony."

Tahiri nodded, then glanced warily up through the open hatch. "I'm a little scared to see what they've done to the inside."

Jag met her gaze briefly. "We'll check it out together, Barefoot Girl. Come on," he said, and grabbed her hand as he headed up the ramp and into the ship.

Tahiri hit the button to close up the hatch as her feet hit the deck, then looked round carefully, her hand still in Jag's. "Well, this part seems clear. . ."

Jag shook his head and pointed to the common area that opened up a few feet away. On the main table was a huge pile of - unfortunately empty - lomin ale bottles, artfully arranged in a square-base pyramid. Propped up against it was a sign that read - Tahiri squinted slightly to read it - 'Galactic record attempt awaiting verification. Keep compensators at one hundred on your way to the record keepers on Mon Calamari, please. WJ & KD.'

"Where did they get all those bottles?" Tahiri wondered out loud, amused despite herself.

Jag shook his head again. "Who knows? Probably from the Rogues and Wraiths. We'll have to clear that up before we take off," he noted with a sigh, then pointed in the other direction with the hand that held Tahiri's. "Let's see what they've done to the cockpit."

Hobbie noticed Wes grin and nudge Jaina's shoulder, distracting her from the problem she couldn't help but fix on the X-wing they were hiding behind. "Look," he told her, stabbing a finger at the screen of his datapad. "They're just going into the cockpit now."

Jaina set her borrowed tools down on the floor and brushed her hands on her paint- and grease-stained shirt. She studied the datapad and grinned slowly as Jag and Tahiri disappeared from the view of the holocam by the hatch. She took the 'pad from Wes and switched the view to the camera hidden above the controls in the cockpit - which offered a clear view of most of the controls, the seats, and the entrance.

Kyp and Hobbie crowded round the datapad, too; Hobbie was curious to see just what Kyp and Wes had done to the inside of the ship. He knew about the lomin ale bottle pyramid, since it had been his unfortunate task to ask around every Rogue, Wraith and Twin Suns pilot the night before for any bottles they had left over, and to assure them that they weren't going to get in trouble for having secret stashes in their bunk rooms. But he and Jaina had spent the entire morning, after ushering all the other mechanics and pilots out of the hangar, doing the new paint job on the Chancer.

The cockpit had undergone a slight refurbishing, it seemed; the padding on the pilot's and co-pilot's seats was now the same material as the cushions in Jaina's apartment - bright orange with brown stitched Ewoks. There were one or two posters up, too, featuring the same panoramic views of Endor as the holos Wes and Hobbie had put up in Jaina's living room. In fact, the similarities between the redecorating work and the ship job were starting to worry Hobbie; just where did one locate such Ewok-themed items? Was there a store in the city centre? 'Ewoks R Us'? If there wasn't, then Hobbie knew - he just knew - that there would be when Wes eventually stopped flying in a squadron. And that he'd somehow end up working there.

And of course, the main feature of the work:

"What the hell is that!" Jag's stunned shout came through the datapad, made slightly tinny by the transmission.

"It's an Ewok," Tahiri's equally-stunned voice said.

"It's in my seat!" Jag told her unnecessarily.

"And it's wearing a captain's uniform," Tahiri added.

Hobbie blinked; Kettch was indeed wearing the uniform of a captain in Starfighter Command. "Wes," he started slowly, "where did you find an Ewok-sized captain's uniform?"

Wes looked up at him and grinned infuriatingly. "Same place I found his flightsuit, of course."

Hobbie shrugged, and nodded. Of course.

Jag had approached Kettch and was now taking a folded piece of flimsiplast from his hand. He opened it and read it to Tahiri. "'Colonel Fel, Jedi Veila, my name is Kettch and I'll be your captain for today. Please take a seat and strap yourselves in. Enjoy the refreshments that have been made available, and I hope you also enjoy my company. Yours, temporarily-demoted Captain Kettch.'"

Though her expression was not clearly visible through the holocams, Tahiri sounded amused. "An Ewok pilot? That's ridiculous!"

Hobbie couldn't help snickering; neither could Wes.

"Almost as short as you," Jag teased, then looked round the cockpit. "What do we do with him?"

"Let him get on with his piloting," Tahiri suggested innocently. She stuck her tongue out at what must have been a shocked expression on Jag's face. "He could navigate for us, then. I bet he could plot a better course than you."

"No," Jag said firmly, picking Kettch up and turning to the exit. "We'll put him in with the bottles. In fact, I'll go clear them up now. You start up the ship," he told Tahiri.

"Boring," she teased him in a sing-song voice as he left the cockpit, then turned round to check the displays for the systems. Apparently, everything was in order - the ship's repulsorlifts kicked in a moment later, and Hobbie glanced up as the noise of them filled the hangar.

"Aw." Kyp actually sounded disappointed. "They didn't find the other stuff, after all the time it took us, Wes."

Wes glanced up and grinned again as he closed the datapad. "It'll give them something for the trip, then."

"What-" Jaina was drowned out by the noise of the Chancer's engines as it lifted off. The hangar's ceiling parted slowly, loudly, to allow the ship to leave. First, though, it hovered above the four pranksters for a few seconds, and Wes waved up at Jag and Tahiri through the cockpit cheerfully. Then the ship turned and shot out into the clear skies of Denon, and as the group watched it fade into the distance, the ceiling doors slid shut, and the hangar was silent once again.

"What," Jaina repeated, "else did you do in the ship?"

Kyp and Wes told her.

Stars extended into the white lines of hyperspace, and Tahiri stretched and leaned back in the co-pilot's seat. She glanced up as Jag stood. "What is it?" she asked him, frowning.

His expression was strange, and she couldn't quite figure it out. He was trying to keep his face in its usual, serious expression, but the corner of his mouth was turned up slightly in amusement. Only slightly. "I think," he said, pulling Tahiri to her feet, "you should come and see what they did to the galley."

"Huh?" Tahiri followed him out of the cockpit, towards the common area near the galley.

"I saw it when I cleared up the bottles," Jag explained, and hit the button to open the galley door.

"Saw what-?" Tahiri stopped when she saw the galley for herself.

The small room had been cleared of all its surfaces and seating, except for two chairs and a square dining table. These were set out in the centre of the room, apparently undisturbed by the slight movements that the inertial compensator hadn't quite dispersed during the jump to lightspeed. A tablecloth - thankfully Ewok-free - was placed neatly on the table, covering its stark durasteel surface; and old-fashioned utensils - made of metal, rather than the usual disposable ones supplied by the military - were set on either side, in front of the chairs. In the middle of the table was a small container half-full of water, with a rare Alderaanian rose in it. Propped against the container was a fancy cream-coloured envelope, 'Jag & Tahiri' written neatly on it in black ink.

Waiting by the table, just powering up, was C-3PO. "Mistress Veila, Master Fel," he greeted them. "Please, take a seat. I have been instructed to serve you your meals on this journey, and if you give me a moment, I will find the printed menus for you to read at your leisure."

"What, we don't get to hear it from you?" Tahiri tried to sound disappointed, even as she marvelled at what had been set up for them.

Threepio's answer sounded almost sulky; Tahiri reminded herself that this was impossible for a droid. "I am afraid not, Mistress Veila. Master Durron was quite clear on what he would do to me if I spoke even a word that was not necessary, which is, of course, absurd. But he explicitly told me that only printed menus were to be provided."

Tahiri grinned. She could only imagine what Kyp had said to the droid. "Thanks, Threepio, but that won't be necessary right now. We only just had lunch."

"A dessert menu, then," Threepio said, ushering them into their seats. "One moment." He disappeared into the food preparation area of the galley.

Tahiri met Jag's eyes and grinned again ruefully. "I did wonder why he wasn't there when I went to the Solos'. And why Leia was acting strange."

"I bet Han was glad to get rid of him for a week," Jag said. He picked up the envelope and opened it, scanning the letter inside. He started smiling as he read it, and when he handed it to Tahiri, he was almost grinning.

To Jag and Tahiri, it read, in the neat, small script that Tahiri knew was Kyp's. First, let me comment on how much easier that is for me to say than 'Jag and Jaina,' and congratulations to you both. And let me also comment on how absolutely terrible you both are at pretending you don't like each other.

I hope you enjoyed the paint job. Jaina and Hobbie are working on it right now, and I've never seen so many cans of yellow paint in my life. I think both of them are very glad that Twin Suns doesn't have a Star Destroyer assigned to it instead.

The lomin ale bottle pyramid took Wes and I hours; I hope you haven't just dismantled it and thrown it out. We managed to beat the current galactic record - held, I believe, by Garik Loran (Face?) and Kell Tainer - by ten centimetres. Mon Cal isn't btoo/b out of the way of your journey, so I hope you have time to make a detour and get it verified by the records office. Just in case you can't, though, Wes took a holo of it. We can't actually use this for the record, but we bcan/b send you so many copies of it that you apologise profusely for ruining our attempt, and promise to rebuild the pyramid.

Kettch was very pleased when we told him that he would be flying you to Zonama Sekot. He didn't even mind the demotion to Captain - Wes couldn't find any other uniform in time. He's actually a very good pilot, Wes says; he flew with your father once, Jag. Ask him about it.

If you're reading this, then you've obviously found what we set up in the galley. It might appear that we're making up for the rest of the things we've done, but we're not. This is another punishment. You're being forced to eat every single meal on your journey in Threepio's company. I did, however, promise to let Ben take him apart and rebuild him if he even thought about making you sit through a reading of the ridiculously long menu, you'll be glad to know. You get flimsi copies of that. We actually intended to find an even more annoying droid to serve you - Wes said he wished he could get Squeaky, I think - but Han said that, if he bought us all the paint, would we take Threepio away instead? We all figured it was a fair deal.

Hope you enjoy your journey; say hi to Danni and Tekli for us, and anyone else who's there. And I hope that you think very carefully in future about your choice of prank victims - and if you're going to try something like that again, then please, for Sith's sake, find some better music.

Glad to get rid of you for another while, Tahiri, and you for a week or so, Jag.

Yours (not really - Jaina's), Kyp.

Tahiri looked up at Jag, and echoed his grin. "I have to hear about your father flying with an Ewok."

"Strangely enough," Jag replied, still smiling, "that's something he hasn't actually told me. We'll have to ask him some time. But first-" He took the menu Threepio handed him and read down the list. "-dessert."

Tahiri nodded. Even with Threepio for company, this would be a great trip. She was sure of it.

They landed on Zonama Sekot a few days later, in the clear landing area closest to the village in which Tahiri, Danni and Tekli lived. Waiting for them as they exited the ship was Danni, but her attention was on the ship rather than them. She was staring at it with an extremely amused expression on her face, and she turned to Jag and Tahiri as they approached.

"Hey there," she greeted them, then nodded towards the ship. "Were you attacked by the same creature that got the Yellow Aces a few years ago?"

Tahiri glanced back at the bright yellow ship and grinned. "Yes," she told Danni after a thoughtful pause. "We were. And we'll be going back for a rematch at some point."

"Is this the kind of thing I just shouldn't ask about?"

Tahiri grinned again. "Probably."